


Chasing Shadows

by karuvapatta



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Threesome - M/M/M, envy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: Lucifer is saved from Hell by the last person he thought would save him. An AU based onBefore the FallingbyNixarim.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	Chasing Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously go and check out [Nixarim](https://www.instagram.com/nixarim/)'s work if you haven't already, it is incredible! 
> 
> **Warnings:** Explicit sex, dubious consent.

The absence of pain was a curious sensation. It left him unmoored, his mind drifting off into unconsciousness without something solid to focus on. He tried to cling to other things, thoughts and feelings, but none of them were making enough of an impression.

Eventually he got used to the lack of pain, like he had had to get used to its presence all those years ago. It was easier to hold himself in the present, to feel softness against his skin, see colours, hear sounds. He could twitch his fingers, blink, all at a glacial pace.

It was too much. And then, one day, it wasn’t enough.

The surface he was lying on was soft; it offered no resistance as he tried to push himself up. Still, the exertion made his thin arms tremble. He dropped down onto his face and grit his teeth in frustration.

Well, he was nothing if not stubborn. Inch by inch, he managed to roll himself over the softness; one final push sent him falling off its edge, a scant foot or so. He cried out when his body connected with hard stone, but that was his chance, right there: he _could_ stand again. He _would._

He did.

It was a room. Not _the_ room, the one he had been stuck in for what felt like forever per Mother’s judgement. There weren’t any chains that he could see; it wasn’t particularly spacious, not in the way Heaven had been. And it felt—strange. He heard and sensed things he had never heard or sensed before.

And there was a door. Behind the door, Lucifer found a garden.

When light first assaulted his eyes, he staggered backwards. But this was ridiculous; he was the Lightbringer. He welcomed the brightness as it caressed his skin and rekindled something deep within him. Then he stepped forth, basking in the sun. Greenery surrounded him; confined to their pots, the plants couldn’t reach their intended size. But they were lush and vibrant nonetheless. When was the last time he had seen so much life around him?

“Oh. You’re awake.”

The voice was familiar. The stuff of fantasies and nightmares, really. The name was at his lips, but before he could say it out loud, there was a sigh.

“I go by Crowley now. Whatever else you were going to call me – don’t.”

“Crowley.” He tested the syllables, the way they curled his tongue. “I don’t like it.”

“I do,” Crowley said flatly.

The face was hauntingly familiar. But there were additions, oddities, he didn’t particularly care to see.

“What happened to your hair?” Lucifer asked.

Instead of the lovely long coppery tresses, his hair was cropped short, near his skull. The outfit he wore was more form-fitting than anything Lucifer had seen him wear before. His eyes were obscured, as if he was trying to hide something. And there was a mark on his cheek: a black serpent, coiling from his right temple down towards the angle of his jaw.

Lucifer traced the shape of the mark with his fingers, and shivered. Beneath the superficial changes, it was still _him_. His starmaker; _his_. After centuries, once more within reach—

_Crowley_ caught his hand and lowered it.

“Don’t,” he said.

His warm, slender fingers were curled loosely around Lucifer’s wrist. The last thing that had touched him in this manner were the iron shackles; Lucifer yanked his hand free and stepped back, suddenly furious.

“Why am I free?” he snapped. “I don’t suppose Mother had a change of heart?”

“She hasn’t actually spoken to anyone in centuries,” Crowley said.

That wasn’t the answer to Lucifer’s question. Moreover, Crowley looked vaguely guilty as he gave it.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

“Who let me out, then?”

“Erm. I did.”

_He had hung suspended from the ceiling. The chains sculpted deep grooves in his flesh, dripping blood into the pool below. There was nothing but the pain to keep him company and he clung onto that pain like an old friend, knowing that if he let go of that, he would be letting go of the last shreds of himself. And so it was, day after day, year after year—_

_And then, movement. Another presence, tugging at his chains, sending fresh new sparks of agony through his body. He slipped from the shackles, right into the oddly familiar embrace…_

“That was you,” Lucifer said.

“Didn’t think you’d remember that,” Crowley said. “You were pretty out of it. Which was a good thing, probably.”

Lucifer moved past him into a more spacious room. This one had a desk and a throne in the middle, and a rendering of a human woman on one of the walls. More importantly, he could unfurl his wings and stretch them out almost in their entirety.

His wings, such as they were right now: leather and bones.

He could _feel_ Crowley’s pitying gaze on his mutilated limbs; he spun around to face him again, the sudden movement leaving him light-headed, unbalanced. He managed to hold onto the desk for support because the alternative was crashing into Crowley. Even so, his head was still spinning, and Crowley was right there, his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, the other one on his elbow, steering him towards the throne.

“Sit still, will you?” Crowley asked, the gentle touch softening the irritation in his voice. “Not sure you should be getting out of bed yet, but, uh—look, I am _not_ a healer, not sure what the protocol is—”

Dizzily, Lucifer said, “Your eyes.”

He could see them now more clearly—yellow irises and vertical slits of the pupils, strange and demonic and serpentine. His starmaker used to have such lovely eyes – but Mother had taken that too, just as She had taken Lucifer’s wings.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Crowley pulled away the odd half-mask that had been obscuring them, folded it, and set it down on the desk.

“Good to know I’m not the only one Mother punished,” Lucifer said.

“You were not,” Crowley said. “But I’m used to them, they are not that big of a deal.”

“No?” Lucifer asked sharply. He cupped Crowley’s cheek, fitting so neatly in the palm of his hand, and forced him to hold Lucifer’s gaze. “She made you into a monster and all you can do is accept that?”

Crowley scowled. “Well, you helped with that, didn’t you?”

“All I did was give you a choice,” Lucifer said.

The tip of his claws dug into Crowley’s skin, dangerously close to drawing blood.

“You manipulated me,” Crowley said. “The Host tore itself apart, all because of you – all _for_ you.”

_For you_. The bitterness, the anger, the undercurrent of despair, the pain of betrayal – they were all remnants of the love his starmaker once had for him. And they were _real_ , which meant the half-forgotten feelings were real, too. Every ruin was a testament to its previous glory, after all.

But instead of fanning that fury and seeing the interesting places it could take them, Crowley sighed, tiredly. “Either way, that all happened ages ago. And I figured – uh – if you hadn’t learned your lesson by now, maybe we should try another approach.”

Lucifer was so stunned, he allowed Crowley to slither out of his grasp.

“What?”

“It’s counterproductive, is what I’m saying,” Crowley said. “She should have either given you a chance to make amends or destroyed you. Leaving you to suffer was—pointless, really.”

“Pointless,” Lucifer said flatly. “Crowley darling – redemption was never the _point_ of Hell. Punishment was.”

“I know,” Crowley said. “And it’s stupid. It’s a waste of everybody’s time.”

Lucifer laughed. “Do you expect that freeing _me_ will score you points with the Almighty? That She will let you back in Heaven?”

“Of course not, why would I want that?” Crowley shuddered. “I’ve been to Heaven lately and it’s even worse than I remembered. No no no.”

“So where are we?”

“On Earth,” Crowley said. “I live here. Used to be a field operative for Hell, but, uh. Stuff happened.”

“What _stuff_?” Lucifer asked.

“Armageddon,” Crowley said. “That is, it _didn’t_ happen. So Heaven and Hell are both working without a script now and it leaves everyone a bit twitchy.” He frowned. “Might be best if you stay here, actually. Until you recover enough to decide what you want to do next.”

Stunned, Lucifer said: “You defied Almighty’s orders to give _me_ a chance at redemption?”

“Wouldn’t say _defied._ An ugly word, that.” Crowley wasn’t looking at him as he said that, obviously a bit nervous about what he had done. In fact, he kept glancing at the floor as if he expected to be chained and dragged underground, as he once had been. That time Lucifer failed to save him. “We once fought for free will,” Crowley went on. “Would be nice to think that we won.”

***

Crowley’s home was small and filled with human things. Lucifer was learning more than he had ever cared to know about Mother’s pet project: wine. Television shows. Bathtubs. Well, they certainly helped to pass the time, and Lucifer had nothing but time on his hands.

He also learned that Crowley didn’t trust him at all. Despite Lucifer’s promises that he would stay put and be nice, he had placed wards around the apartment, designed to keep celestial and infernal beings from coming or going without his permission. And they weren’t _his_ work – Lucifer examined the sigils carefully as soon as Crowley went out and was shocked to discover that they were glowing with divine power.

There had been an angel here. An angel whose purpose was to protect. And who was close with Crowley.

A horrible suspicion coiled in Lucifer’s gut. He had no way of confirming it of course, but he reckoned this was where Crowley had been disappearing to when he wasn’t home. And so it was that instead of plotting his way out of this place, Lucifer spent hours pacing the floor, quietly fuming at the idea of Crowley with an _angel_. Their _enemy_. One of the angels who had cast them out of Heaven! Who had condemned them to the pits of Hell! Obedient, docile, boring angels! With _his_ starmaker!

It wasn’t really a surprise when he finally showed up, trailing behind Crowley.

“Lucifer,” he said, tone chilling.

“Principality Aziraphale,” Lucifer said through gritted teeth. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

He had changed, too. Lucifer would never forget the last face he ever saw in Heaven – the one who had stolen his starmaker from him. His hair was shorter now, lying in curls atop his head. And if possible, he seemed even softer and more harmless when dressed up as a human. But it would be a mistake to underestimate him: his eyes tracked Lucifer’s every movement, and he hovered protectively around Crowley.

“You’ve been fiddling with the wards,” Aziraphale said.

“There isn’t much else to do, is there?” Lucifer asked. “I’ve been trapped in here for weeks.”

“You promised you wouldn’t try to escape,” Crowley said.

“And yet you still had me locked up!” Lucifer said. “It’s like you don’t even trust me. That’s very hurtful.”

“We _don’t_ trust you,” Aziraphale said. “We would be foolish to.”

Lucifer sneered. This really wasn’t any of the angel’s business; he turned away from him, addressing Crowley directly: “You let me out of one prison just to lock me up here?”

“What if someone finds you?” Crowley asked.

But he did look guilty and apologetic. Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and they shared a _look_ – so soft and sappy it made Lucifer sick.

“I have to redo these,” Aziraphale said quietly, pointing at the symbols Lucifer had been patiently clawing off the walls these past three days.

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley said.

Lucifer loathed every inch of that warm smile on his lips, the way he looked at Aziraphale… he stalked off, just in case these bastards had the audacity to make out in front of him.

***

Maybe it was the horns, he thought later. They grew right out of his skull, sharp, ugly things… he tried to will them away, just as he tried to restore his wings to their proper appearance. But, no. He was condemned to wear this proof of his failures, just as Crowley was. Something the stupid angel could never hope to get.

***

He wasn’t trying to hide – there were only so many rooms in this place and Lucifer had had time to familiarize himself with every inch of them – but he took care to avoid the two. Maybe watching the Principality work could tell him something useful, something he could use later; maybe. Lucifer wasn’t in the mood.

What he was in the mood for, however, was wine. It truly was a marvellous invention. He would happily drink himself into stupor but Crowley interrupted him halfway through, entering Lucifer’s bedroom. At least he was alone. Blessedly alone.

“You don’t trust me,” Lucifer said once again.

He made no attempt at hiding the pain in his voice and was incredibly gratified when it had the desired effect: Crowley looked guilty. Apologetic. Oh, Lucifer could work with that.

“I’ve made that mistake before,” Crowley said. “Figured I’d be smarter this time around.”

Lucifer glared. “I was fighting for something greater than any one angel. I thought you understood that.”

“You were fighting for yourself,” Crowley said.

“And yet I always had time to chase you,” Lucifer said.

Step by step, he approached Crowley. Trapped him between the wall and Lucifer’s own body, spreading his mutilated wings around them until they were well and truly alone.

“That hasn’t changed, it seems,” Lucifer said. He brushed Crowley’s short hair from his forehead and removed his sunglasses so that he could see his serpentine eyes again – so that Crowley could see Lucifer’s own eyes, blood-red and equally demonic. “Why is that, starmaker?”

“How should I know?” Crowley’s voice was strained, his breathing shallow and rapid; Lucifer could feel the escalating heartbeat beneath the palm of his hand, pressed to Crowley’s chest.

“You never wondered?”

“That was millennia ago—”

“Millennia I spent chained underground,” Lucifer said, bitterness creeping into his tone. “While you were here—on Earth—” He huffed a humourless laugh. “Did you ever spare a thought for me, my dear?”

“I—”

“Because I thought about you,” Lucifer said. “Of everything in Heaven I think I missed you the most—”

Crowley’s lips were achingly familiar, and so tantalizingly close; Lucifer wasn’t able to stop chasing them, it seems. And now, finally, they were within reach, soft and warm—

Crowley’s hands curled in the fabric of Lucifer’s shirt; he shoved him backwards, with none of that earlier gentleness. But, no, Lucifer wasn’t letting him off that easily. He fought, and laughed, as Crowley overpowered him and turned them around, shoving Lucifer against the wall instead, a furious gleam in his eyes.

“You badly misssread the sssituation,” Crowley hissed.

“Have I?” Lucifer asked, still laughing. He caught Crowley’s face between his hands and kissed him again and again, thankful for the violence, the anger; it felt so _good_ , so _right_ to be trapped in that way, helpless, with his starmaker before him, Lucifer commanding the entirety of his attention. The way it should be.

Crowley would get tired of pretending he didn’t want it as much as Lucifer did; he was already showing signs of it. His grip on Lucifer’s waist was desperate, as was his other hand pinning Lucifer’s wrists to the wall high above his head. He had to remember how wonderful it could be between the two of them; his lips were so close, trying to find some common ground between lust and fury – as if the two ever had to be at odds—

Lucifer savoured the kisses, the sharp teeth biting into his neck, Crowley’s thigh pressed firm to Lucifer’s hips, keeping them still. It had been too long—

“Crowley?”

All the blood drained from Crowley’s face. The door had opened, letting in the light. And, with it, the blessed angel.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Crowley said stupidly. In answer, Lucifer hiked his leg around Crowley’s hips to let him know that yes, this was _exactly_ what it looked like.

Aziraphale narrowed his blue eyes.

“Yes, I figured he would try something of the sort,” he said, unimpressed. “Let him go, please.”

How dare he? _How dare he_? Lucifer had waited _millennia_ for this, just to have this, this _nobody_ interrupt him!

“He was mine long before he was yours, Principality,” he said coldly.

“Don’t blame others for things you personally destroyed, Lucifer,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley disentangled himself from Lucifer’s embrace and took a shaky step backwards. He was looking helplessly between Lucifer and Aziraphale before his gaze settled on the latter, instantly softening.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale said, equally softly.

And then they left together, _holding hands_ , while Lucifer remained in the dark room, utterly alone and helplessly aroused.

***

Afterwards, Aziraphale didn’t seem to want to leave them alone together. Whenever Crowley came back to the apartment, the angel was right there with him, staring suspiciously at Lucifer even as they were all having tea and pretending to be civil.

He needn’t have worried. Crowley avoided Lucifer with a determination worthy of a better cause. This was getting tiresome.

Lucifer cornered him in the kitchen while he was busy making drinks for the three of them. Before Crowley had the chance to bolt, Lucifer had him backed against the fridge.

“Stop fidgeting,” Lucifer said. “It’s unattractive.”

“Then leave me alone, you maniac!”

“Would it really be so bad though?” Lucifer purred. “To give in to me?”

“My partner is in the next room,” Crowley said flatly. “And even if he weren’t: no. We’re done. Back off.”

Lucifer smirked.

“But we aren’t done,” he said. “And it’s even better that the Principality is here. You see—”

He dragged Crowley to the living room, which now had a spacious couch in addition to the throne and the desk. Human world was just so charmingly malleable.

“I had an interesting conversation,” Lucifer said.

“What? With whom? The wards—”

“Oh, there was no one here,” Lucifer said. “Nothing could slip through your wards – nothing but the tiniest fly.” He grinned. “Beelzebub told me all about what the two of you have done, and about how you miraculously survived your respective executions. And then I remembered how my dear Crowley told me he had been to Heaven recently… Do you think these two are related?”

He watched understanding dawn on their faces and relished their ensuing terror, as much as their attempts at masking it.

“You two aren’t special. You are only good at pretending,” Lucifer said. “And isn’t that something Heaven and Hell would love to know? After the amount of trouble you have caused them?”

Aziraphale recovered first, full of righteous fury. “We saved you and you respond with threats?” he asked. “Crowley should have left you chained in that pit—”

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you,” Lucifer said. “Considering that you put me there yourself!”

“The Almighty willed it!”

“Did She? Because I’m free right now and She hasn’t said a word! Maybe it was just you, Principality, and your own jealousy that made it happen?”

Without quite meaning to, he ended up shouting. He tried to calm down now – get his breathing under control, his thoughts in order. That was millennia ago; he wasn’t going back to the pit. Fear wasn’t doing him any favours.

“What do you want?” Crowley asked quietly. “In exchange for your silence?”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a smile.

“Oh, you know very well what I want, starmaker.”

It took a moment for Crowley to understand. His eyes widened.

“You’re insane,” he said incredulously.

Lucifer shrugged. “Maybe. So?” He leaned down and took Crowley’s face between his hands again, licking his lips in anticipation. “Come along, dear. Your angel can watch.”

“You’re insane,” Aziraphale echoed.

Lucifer ignored him. He ignored everything in favour of straddling Crowley’s lap, running his hands through his beautiful hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth…

“Are you afraid of competition, Principality?” Lucifer asked dreamily.

Crowley’s hands wrapped around his waist; first to push him off and then, helplessly, to hold him in place. It was rather sweet how he still bothered to pretend he didn’t want to give in.

“Darling,” Lucifer murmured. He unbuttoned Crowley’s shirt; he curled in his embrace, kissing, licking, nipping his skin. Crowley made a half-strangled noise of protest but he didn’t need to anymore; he could always say that it hadn’t been his choice, _the Devil made me do it, I’m innocent—_

“Bastard,” Crowley hissed, his teeth grazing the soft shell of Lucifer’s ear, his hands ripping the shirt off Lucifer’s shoulders.

“I won’t apologize for what I am,” Lucifer said, reaching down to Crowley’s belt.

Crowley fell back, wide-eyed, while Lucifer undressed them both. And it felt so good to see him again, the whole of him, his pale skin flushed red, his cock half-hard already – but while Lucifer was drinking in the sight, Crowley turned to look at bloody _Aziraphale_.

“Angel—”

“Do you want me to leave?” Aziraphale asked in a quiet, tender voice.

They spoke to each other as if Lucifer wasn’t here; as if his presence didn’t even matter.

But this was all right. Lucifer embodied all sins. He could handle the wrath burning beneath his skin, just as he could handle the suffocating pull of envy. He hoped that Crowley could taste the fury in his kisses; the bastard deserved to know just what he was doing to Lucifer.

He tugged on Crowley’s cock, pumping it with quick, efficient strokes; in response, Crowley dug his nails into the muscles of Lucifer’s arse and thigh, pulling him forward.

“Get on with it,” Crowley said breathlessly, hips buckling beneath Lucifer’s touch.

“I’m trying to savour the moment,” Lucifer said, laughing. He was hopelessly, embarrassingly hard; had been from the moment he straddled Crowley’s lap. It should worry him how eager he was for it; how his fingers trembled when he tried to work himself open.

“You’re sick,” Crowley said emphatically.

It was too soon; not soon enough. Lucifer hissed in pain when Crowley breached him, but he could live with the pain; his thighs quivered with the strain of holding himself in kneeling position, he had to take it slow, he had to be patient, he _could_ be patient—

Crowley kissed his neck, his collarbone. He massaged the skin of Lucifer’s back, right between his wings, his other hand catching his hip, holding him, steadying him.

“Relax, Lightbringer,” Crowley murmured in his ear. His voice was as it had been long, long ago, as if he finally remembered how it used to be between them. “Let me—”

If only he hadn’t been so bloody _nice_. It would be easier to hate him; easier to move on.

Lucifer choked back a broken, sobbing sound. His hips buckled and he had to cling onto Crowley for support as he was filled, slowly, inch by inch. He got used to the stretch and he enjoyed the pain of it, it barely scratched the surface of what he wanted, what he needed—

“Fuck me like you mean it, darling,” he said sharply. “Or we will be here all night.”

To drive his point home, Lucifer raked his nails down Crowley’s back. Lucifer had _sharp_ nails; Crowley hissed in pain, finally, _finally_ giving in to the anger Lucifer had hoped to see from him. He pulled out and shoved Lucifer off, manhandling him until he was flat on his belly on the couch. Then he hauled him up by the hips, his hand fisted in Lucifer’s hair, pushing his face down, muffling his cries and his laughter alike.

Yes, _this_. This was—with his arse up in the air, spine twisted to an uncomfortable degree, his unruly hair filling his mouth as he gasped desperately for air; as he shuddered when Crowley slammed into him. This was the height of bliss.

He tried to reach between his legs to his throbbing cock but Crowley grabbed his hand and wrenched it backwards, holding it firm at the small of Lucifer’s back. He was cursing, drenched in sweat, his movements forceful, erratic.

And, at last, he came – in spurts inside Lucifer. Immediately after he slipped out and let go, shifting away, gasping from exertion and, possibly, shame.

Lucifer wasn’t ashamed. He felt debauched in the best possible way. Filthy. Used. He savoured the feeling, wallowed in the pleasure that was so rudely denied to him.

“Are you still here, Principality?” he asked, grinning wickedly.

The angel looked scandalized by what he had just witnessed. Good. And even more so when Lucifer sat down next to him – better – and when he crawled into his lap, looping his arms around the angel’s shoulders.

“Can’t imagine how stressful this must be,” Lucifer said. “Watching your boyfriend do that…”

Aziraphale had pretty eyes. The prettiest of the three of them, if he were to be honest. Untainted by the Fall.

“What _you_ made him do,” Aziraphale said, voice trembling – with rage, or perhaps other things.

“He didn’t seem particularly reluctant,” Lucifer said.

There was a flush on Aziraphale’s neck, visible above the prim collar of his shirt, above that ridiculous bowtie. Lucifer untied it slowly, slipping the fabric between his fingers, enjoying the murderous gleam in Aziraphale’s beautiful eyes – the way he clenched his soft thighs, as if hoping to hide his arousal.

“Leave him alone, Lucifer!”

Crowley was there, wrenching his head back by one of the horns. Lucifer grinned at him.

“Would be rude to deny him a chance at revenge, wouldn’t it?” Lucifer asked.

“He doesn’t _want_ revenge, you sick fuck—”

“Oh, I assure you,” Lucifer said. He cupped Aziraphale’s hardening cock through his trousers and licked his lips in anticipation. “He is aching for it.”

Crowley’s grip loosened. He was staring at Aziraphale, one eyebrow raised.

The angel flushed. “I, ah—I don’t often have the chance to watch you, Crowley. And you are so beautiful—”

“I’m glad you were enjoying yourself,” Crowley said.

“Oh, like you weren’t awfully quick to indulge him,” Aziraphale said. “And so, so _eager_ to save him… What, exactly, did you expect would happen?”

Trapped between them, Lucifer tried to stifle his laughter. These two – they were perfect for each other, yes, and nauseatingly in love, sure, but even their relationship had cracks. Weak spots. All he had to do was find such a spot and wrench it open… and then sit back and watch as they fall apart.

But there was a quiet, treacherous voice in the back of his head: _that won’t make him love you. Destroying them won’t fix you. You are beyond saving, beyond redemption, wretched, sinful, undeserving—_

He had to silence that voice. He caught Aziraphale’s face and kissed him full on the mouth, forcefully, rolling his hips forward to get more of that delicious friction.

“Careful, angel,” he purred right into Aziraphale’s ear. “Or I’ll take back what is mine.”

“He isn’t--” Aziraphale snarled, unbuttoning his trousers. “Nor has he ever been—” he thrusted up; Lucifer moaned. “Yours!”

It was easier the second time around. Almost too easy. But when he tried to move he felt Crowley’s naked chest firm behind his back, holding him still; Aziraphale’s shockingly strong grip on his legs, spreading them apart; and his thrusts, slowing down to a gentle, sensuous rhythm that wasn’t at all what Lucifer wanted.

“I’m glad you two had this conversation,” Crowley said drily.

Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss _him_ , kiss Crowley, right over Lucifer’s shoulder. It went on for quite a while; he didn’t slow down. Lucifer cried out in frustration, trapped once again between them. He tried not to give in to the pleasure when it wasn’t tainted by pain. Tried not to stare at them, at how bloody perfect they were for one another, utterly caught in their own world.

He tried not to think—not to remember—the first time, when it was just himself and his starmaker. No plotting, no hidden agendas; just the two of them, coming together beneath the starry sky—

Lucifer did end up losing himself, however briefly. They collapsed together in a heaving, sweaty mess; it was shockingly comfortable between Crowley’s skinny body and Aziraphale’s soft, plump one. The post-coital haze took the edge off jealousy and resentment; Lucifer ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s curly hair and kept caressing Crowley’s leg, his eyes drifting shut.

“So we can all agree this was a terrible idea?” Aziraphale said sleepily.

“The worst,” Crowley nodded in agreement. He hadn’t moved an inch.

“Well, I had a great time,” Lucifer said.

There was no bite to his words. There was just the voice, growing steadily louder – _you never loved him, you are incapable of it, you were using him and he was_ right _to abandon you, to betray you—_

He didn’t need that now. What he needed was a plan – to win the war he had once lost, to become the ruler he was always meant to be. Soon, everything he had lost would be returned to him.

Everything. Even the starmaker.


End file.
